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Margot Faryner/Diary
This is a diary for Margot Faryner. Warning for swearing/rude language. Store bought is fine There's a recipe I've always been afraid to touch. It belonged to my mother, which should surely clear any questions you hold in your mind at this moment. After all the vile remorseless hag used only the most forbidden of ingredients. Human flesh. And I, as a person of solid morals, working to break away from the role society has constructed for me, would naturally be repulsed by such evil. In fact merely holding the recipe book should twist my stomach with revulsion and deep regret. I would naturally swear never to allow such cruelties to surface ever again and live the rest of my life a vegetarian, tearing up at every dinner party where meat is served (which would be a rather glaring social faux pas. Forgive me, my mother was a cannibal.) No, of course I'd be afraid to touch those recipes. However that's not the recipe I'm referring to. In an more sentimental time, maybe one that's unrealistic for a witch. One that's merely faded sepias by now. The scents of spring breezed along, blending with the homely aromas of an oven that's never off…. I suppose if I deserved the term, I'd describe it as a fairytale. She loved me, I know that for certain. She didn't measure anything, rather she'd throw ingredients in in a way that seemed slapdash to me at the time, but she must instinctively have known was correct. They'd always come out perfect. Of course it doesn't seem feasible that such a person would have anything written down. Her messy, unregimented wholly wrong but wholly right recipes would be gone along with her. But I found some. Scrawled on yellowed note paper and forgotten deep in an old cupboard, there they were. Faintly smelling of vanilla and partially burnt in places, they must have been written years before she gained any experience. And don't you know, that recipe was there too. It's easy, I just have to follow some steps. You do it all the time in cooking, in potions brewing… Literally the only difference is the fact that I'm mythologising it in a hilariously sentimental way. Geez, I'm a sensible person, I know the way it works. Why should I be afraid of an old half baked recipe by some old relative? Whatever, let's do it. I can't… I just can't. She doesn't deserve it. If I screw up… I'll bury every memory in blunders, on top of blunders, on top of chalky lumps of flour and soupy mixtures and close textured rubbery garbage that refuses to rise and every single. disgusting. disappointing. FOOLISH mistake I'm going to make because that's all I can do, make mistakes. Then she'll be gone and all I'll be left with is some badly burnt cakes and dishes to clean. Chapter one Well it's a monday morning, I'm short a few hours sleep and attempting to rationalise feelings or something to that effect in a half empty recipe book. I've probably gone a little off kilter this week if I ever thought writing was a good idea. Wait, I don't. Not completely anyways. I'll just have to cling to that fact and maybe I'll hold out til the universe can refund me the rest it owes me. Anyways it's home ec first period. Or whatever we call it. Cooking class(-ick) Who the hell made this timetable anyways? It's too damn early for baking. Well, unless you're a patisserie or a baker but judging by the rest of my classics-mates (:P) that's a non issue. At least I look constructive right now, writing in my lil biscuit book. And hey, if it's in a recipe book, no one's touching it and my menial secrets are safe as gingerbread houses. Cause everyone knows that to a baker, recipe books are more important than life itself. Their lives at least. Anyways the teacher's finally arrived so I guess it's time to put the book away and listen have a nice nap. “Ok class,” she growls in a sweet voice (that's one advantage of going to this school-you get to know what a bear trying to speak english sounds like) “I'll be giving out your class assignment this week!” Ok I should listen. And stop writing frick ~~ actually nvm it'd be a good idea to note what she's saying ''-While fairytales are considered the main way history's kept alive, there's a great history to be found in oral tradition and the home. And what's particularly amazing about that is that everyone has a unique story!'' (Ok i really liked that seeing as i took the time to write it all pretty, you go momma bear) Wait i took too long what did she say oh thank heck she hasn't given the assignment yet, still talking. Oh wait what am I doing being concerned about cooking of all things, haha look at me being a good student “so with that, I'd like you to find an old family recipe, and recreate it here for your midterm hexam.” What. I slapped the book down on the desk and repeated it aloud for good measure. “What” Everyone in the class turned to stare. I was happy to see a few looked to be scared of me. (Wishful thinking, I'm writing this after the fact.) “Might I remind you ma’am, that all my family recipes are cannibalistic in nature?” (May have stuttered that, not sure. Either way that came out a little too rude) She looked a little taken aback. Or maybe she was just surprised that I was awake. “Oh… yes that would be a problem wouldn't it.” she smiled sheepishly. “maybe you could...substitute the meat?” “for what, beef? Children don't come that tough!” “...Chicken, pork?” “Oh sure that'll totally work. I'll go ask the three little pigs to sacrifice their firstborns to me. Then we'll be rid of the annoying students and lessen the burden on school resourc-by jove Mrs Bear you're a genius!” “N-now now, please DON'T DO THAT Margot, you know better- Hey how about a vegetarian substitute?” “i wasn't aware quorn came in human.” She sighed and raised her paw to her forehead. (Check me out ma I'm including verbs) “I'll give the matter some thought. For now jus- “Excuse me if I'm wrong” a cool voice interrupted, “but aren't you known for, you know candy houses?” And that my dear friend, is the beginning of my troubles. Some two mouthed gabby demon. Because now you'll know how the conversation ended. “Oh yes of course! Your mother would have been well known for sweets wouldn't she? Then it's settled! You can bake something of hers!” “...is it too late to mention that they were also made of human blood?” “I'm pretty sure they weren't.” ...So anyways looks like I have an assignment to fail. Chapter two I'm getting a lot more rest now that I have no work to do. Wow isn't it great to have such a light workload, especially this close to midterms. What? Don't fucking judge me, haven't you done so enough? Look it's a nice day, crisps are half price and I'm outside, proving to stuffy adults that yes, teens still go outside. What's the big deal, what's the big deal. Then I just sigh and flop down on the grass. I'm still really tired. I don't know. The world feels so idyllic and calm at the moment. It's nice but like... I dunno what do you expect me to say. Peace feels so freaking fake that I'd scream if I was a more dramatic person. But I know how to keep my mouth shut. Whatever, I need to bake. ~~ Well it's in the oven now. I think I put in too much baking powder, then I overmixed it. Ugh it just went way too wrong way too fast. In the end I just got annoyed and ground in some magusflye and ginger and some other shit that it would be best not to mention just in case I implicate myself. Either way I've kind of lost my appetite. “Thought I'd find you here” Oh great, demon boy. “Oh hello it's you.” “Yes. It's me. Try sounding less pleased to see me, why don't you.” “this is my normal voice” “and this is mine.” He sat down. “hey I'm having the same issue as you y’know” “You mean a demon forcing you to take an unwanted journey through memory lane?” “No, well” he frowned as if he was thinking of someone, “apart from that at least. Look in my… ‘family’ the only thing anyone ate was the souls of the innocent. Raw.” “Edgy.” “Yeah I know right” He shifted again, dislocating his neck with a carapacial click as he did so. “But yeah I figured you might be able to help me… and I you?” “...That would be the most half assed way to sell your soul ever.” He snapped his neck back into place (i was impressed) “I don't want your soul! I just want- “a good grade? Geez didn't realise the underworld had nerds too.” He was unimpressed, to say the least. “Well anyway, what do you say?” Why the hell not. “sure.” “I'm sure we'll be able to learn a lot from each other.” *'DING'* “Are you going to take that out?” “Let it burn.” Chapter three So after we got yelled at for starting a small scale fire, we got to work. If by work you mean sitting down and staring blankly at recipe books while eating store bought croissants. And yes I do, cause that's all that I can be motivated to do right now. “You never mentioned if souls of the innocent had a taste” “It's less a taste and more an abstract conglomerate of feelings. With an aftertaste of hellfire." "Something flambéed then I'd imagine. I dunno, you want a lend of some baybee's tears? It's the closest equivalent I've found to human sorrow." (Or so said the guy I served that baybee tear/acid-lemon tart to.) The demon tore off a bit of crossaint and tossed it into his lower maw. Thankfully he had the good graces to start speaking with the mouth that wasn't full of crumbs. “You know, I would have hexpected you to be completely fine on this assignment. Kid of some... candy witch or gingerbread man right?” “Sweets witch. Not even gonna give me the dignity of a ‘the’ title huh?” “I'm pretty sure you're not the original. Orrrrr are you planning on duelling Ginger for the title?” Quite an inflammatory question in my opinion. No tact this demon, no tact. “No, no of course not. Compared to my beloved Ginger I am naught but a British knock-off. My gingerbread house is stale and my molasses are mouldy and even Johnnie and Grizzle would ask for a refund on me! Oh woe is my life as a lowly half baked trope! UGH. Very well. I concede.” (He stopped making eye contact with me from this point on) “Rrright… why not just borrow a recipe from her then- “I WOULD NEVER STEAL from such a queen” “I said borrow.” “Really now… this is the first time in my life I've heard that said without sarcasm” “Indeed… or else why not just use your own recipe instead. Like, you're holding a personal recipe book right now.” “Well I suppose I could. However there is one problem.” “yeah?” “it's filled with crappy diary entries not recipes.” “...so borrowing it is.” ~~ SO after coming up with such a genius plan (full credits to me) , I set out to enact it. I would win the girl, get the recipe, have my cake and eat it. But annoyingly the girl's nowhere to be seen and frankly I'm getting too annoyed to make this make any sense so whatever. It's not like it matters, what idiot other than me would read this... (Or maybe I will fix it, it's bugging me) Well whatever. I'm resting in the library at the moment. The librarians have really been asserting their authority recently. I'm pretty sure they tossed some dude out just now for sleeping. Unfortunately it seems this is no longer a welcome place for me. If you don't hear back from me assume I’ve fallen victim to a workaholic dystopia. No sleeping? A death sentence. What else am I supposed to do in a library? And don't say read you hypocrite. This place is dustier than death’s candle den. Oh no someone's coming I was just KIDDING ABOUT NEEDING TO ESCAPE I’M CHRONICALLY LAZY I CAN’T RUN Chapter four Well last entry was a bit of a mess wasn't it? I suppose that's just the way of the world, you start to flag in the middle. A bit like baking. Sometimes you'll confuse salt with sugar and sometimes you'll actually make a half decent cake. However unfortunately unlike baking, I can't throw this book in the oven. I tried you know. They locked me out of the kitchen. Oh yeah… guess I should mention who it was huh. Annoying stuff, this continuity business. Darn you little book, forcing me to create a cohesive narrative. Aren't you supposed to be a recipe book anyways, what are you doing trying to be an enjoyable piece of literature?! Get back in the role i assigned you dammit. A recipe for getting sent to the counsellors room ' 1 pessimistic attitude 2 ½ outbursts in front of teachers 4 days of skipped classes 5 months of slacking 1 minor fire ¾ of the room burnt Buckets and buckets of mommy issues And 17 years of villainy ''If you can't form any of these at your own leisure, store bought is fine. “So, Margot, you haven't been attending any of your classes for the past few days? Are you sure that's wise this close to hexams?” “Well, Ms Yaga, I'm merely expressing the nonconformist attitude of a villain. Am I not your beloved star pupil? Now please, untie me” Then Baba Yaga looked at me solemnly, and with a shake of her head said, “You know, you shouldn't be so over dramatic. I know you're a sorely neglected little kid but maybe you should stop writing down so many fantasies about getting tied up by an old woman or else someone who stumbles across this book will be very concerned.” “in fairness ma’am, I've been spreading fictional events all my life. This would most certainly not be the first.” “So this behaviour seems to have started since…” she consulted some sheet “Cooking class-ic? Mrs Momma Bear has mentioned that you seemed... agitated when you heard the assignment.” Pause. “Do you miss her?” “Excuse me? Do I miss her? No, I don't feel that strongly about my ursine educator.” “Ohhh” She threw her hands up “You know who I mean. Your mother.” “I fail to understand your line of reasoning. Why would I miss such a twisted old hag? Blood may be thicker than water but not by much.” “That excuse won't work on me, Margot. You seem to forget that I knew her as a student. Twisted, she was not.” That was a bit irksome. Who the hell gossips bout a student’s business to another student? Even if they're a generation apart that's still kinda rude. So I respond in kind. “Oh, and? You going to tell me she was your star pupil or whatever? Top of the class, friend to all, a little evil proto-apple white? Work hard and I might measure up, make her proud or whatever. No worries I'm not planning on going rogue or whatever the heck birdie queen did. Good, good, glad that's cleared up, I promise to register before I leave class. Bye.” “SIT DOWN MARGOT. (Pretty sure i heard) villains these days (mumble) passion for monologuing” (Inhales) “Look, Margot I wasn't going to say that. Your mother… well ah wasn't really that memorable- “Thanks” “-Until her third year! She never really said much in class. Rather shy, you see. All she'd do was sit there, scribbling down recipes in a little book.” (i shoved this thing deeper in my pocket) “but oh my stars, she could bake. Back in her day, she won an international competition with the...Biggest cake I've ever seen! There was enough to feed the entire audience!” “...wow. so what. she bakes i bake.” “...Then it turns out that she spiked it with a powerful sleeping draught. ...And pickpocketed from a good two hundred people along with the prize money” “...damn” She seemed to be thinking of something. “...Yeah unfortunately I'm pretty sure that the footage of that contest has been wiped, sorry. Headmaster Grimm doesn't really like it brought up… for legal reasons.” “mmhm. That doesn't really help though. If I tried to make something that big I would probably die.” She glanced at me critically. “Yeah you probably would” (gee thanks ma’am.) “but I'm pretty sure she got a recipe published in the yearbook! Why not go up to Legacy Orchard to have a look?” “...yeah thanks. Good talk.” “For what it's worth, I see a lot of her in you.” “...right.” So what Yaga actually said was a bit more sympathetic. You know, the kind of thing that makes your face heat up a bit. With embarrassment of course. What watery eyes? Chapter five Well, starting this entry, I have many, MANY complaints. Firstly why did no one tell me where it is. Secondly why did no one tell me that it's situated AT SUCH AN EXCESSIVE ALTITUDE. Thirdly, Who plants an orchard at such a height? And finally, and most importantly Why is it called an orchard if there's no fruit? You know, I'm getting real sick of this school’s nonsense. ~~ I'm here. So many stairs… I'm gonna puke. It's actually… kinda neat here. Like those memorial forests except they'd prefer to pretend they're not all dead by now. I'm not going to lie, I forget what year mom would have been in at school. The power of basic maths would really help right about now. Alas, that is a magical skill that I do not possess. ~~ Ok after forcing my brain through some numbers I think I found it. I tell ya though, if Yaga was wrong, I will personally throw her down the nearest staircase. So I flip through the pages filled with people with questionable fashion choices and random friendship crap no one cares about. There's a page of quotes. Wow this sure is some pretentious stuff. “If you can't do it right, change the rules” You may have thousands of my days, but I have thousands of moments in which I can be merry and happy. We have the same time to live; only we reckon differently. -Farryner, Hans Christie whatever (flip) ~~ It- it's ...so this is her recipe. I remember it clearly, oh so clearly. In full colour, in full flavour. Here it is, sitting in some yearbook in a tree garden at the top of some annoying geography. Just sitting. Alone and collecting outdoor dust…(pollen?) If she submitted it to the yearbook, then it must have meant something to her. And this damned school just forgot about her? No, no it isn't fair is it. Recipes are meant to be used and enjoyed right? That's the truth of the matter. God DAMN IT I'm such a freaking coward. Ok let's do this. ~~ '''Ingredients For Your Chocolate Cake: F'lour 1-3/4 cups, sifted '''U'nsweetened cocoa powder, 3/4 cups 'C'anola or vegetable oil, ½ cup ba'K'''ing powder, 1 1/2 teaspoons 1 1/2 teaspoons baking soda 1 teaspoon salt 2 cups sugar 2 large e'G'gs 1 cup butte'R'm'''I'lk 2 teaspoons va'M'illa extract 1 cup boiling water ~~ This is a really weirdly written recipe. Oh. '''OH. How did I not see this before? That was… embarrassingly obvious. Grinning, I cut the yearbook loose and dashed back to school. Chapter six “so this is my cake. I call it the legacy cake, inspired by… my mother.” Momma Bear looked almost impressed. She subtly sniffed it (can bears even smell meat?) and a look of relief glanced across her features. “Not bad, not bad. I knew you could do it! I have to admit your presentation is top notch.” And I have to admit, it was. Five tiers high, iced in pastels and crowned with carefully piped rosettes. Glazes resembling book pages decorated the sides of the cake, like a noble and beloved library, much like our own dust shack. “But I suppose, it's the taste that really matters, right?” So I cut into my creation and served the slice to the teacher. She picked up the dessert fork with her thumbless paw, and with relish took a bite. “ohh this frosting is excellent I have to say. And you got such a nice rise on your bake! The texture’s very fluffy and the sponge is- *''COUGH*'' *COUGH* *COUGH* “Is this-” she pulled it out of her mouth, “Paper?!” It was inspired by my mother you know. From all the recipes in all the books in all the world, I feel like this one best represented her. And dammit, if it doesn't then tough, ain't like they can ask her. This school's what killed her after all. With a claw, she ripped the cake apart, revealing the burnt scraps of paper and sprinkling crumbs everywhere. “Class 19- is this a yearbook?!” “it is called an orchard, Ma’am.” (She was unimpressed.) Well, it was quite a journey, wasn't it? Mostly in the physical sense. We made friends, (whoever that guy was) and we lost them. (Or something. Where is he.) We fought many metaphorical battles and conquered many many uncomfortably literal stairs. And at the other end, I made the ultimate cake. A long journey indeedy. I'd like to say that I came out unscathed but alas, I feel the prick of character development opening my heart just a little. Don't worry though, I'll get it back under control by tuesday. And now I must bid you adieu, cause this little book is almost completely full. I gotta admit it was kinda nice writing it, but thank god it's over. Who knows, maybe next book I'll actually write down some recipes. 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